


Nipped in the Bud

by raritysdiamonds



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Christmas Fluff, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Misuse of everything, kind of?, misuse of flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 13:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raritysdiamonds/pseuds/raritysdiamonds
Summary: “I’m just saying...if you’re gonna somehow end up selling flowers with your mortal enemy, he might as well be easy on the eye, right?”(Dipper thought, after high school, he’d be free from Bill Cipher forever. But a busy holiday season at Pines & Posies soon blooms into a watchful eye, unorthodox flower arrangements and a whole bunch of bad decisions.)





	Nipped in the Bud

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatofStarsandMoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatofStarsandMoonlight/gifts).



> ...SO. this is a thing now!! Written for the Christmas Fic Exchange 2017, huge thanks to the wonderful BraixenBoy17 for letting me adopt his plotbunny and looking this over for me <3 This ship and AU was definitely something new for me and a challenge at times, but I had fun with it and hopefully at least some of you guys will enjoy too! ^_^
> 
> Also, pretty much everything I know about flowers, I learned [here](http://www.allflorists.co.uk/advice_flowerMeanings.asp) \- tried to sneak in a couple ~subtle hidden meanings~, and may be a useful resource for any fellow flower shop AU writers! :3
> 
> (cw for mentions of homophobia/abuse)

“I’m just saying, Mabel, that's...kind of a _lot_ of glitter.”

“But, Dipper, it’s _Christmas_!” his sister insisted, waving her arm at the various store windows; the whole length of the street, they were surrounded by sparkles, Christmas trees, fairy lights, smiling Santas and brightly coloured gifts as far as the eye could see. “You can _never_ have too much glitter at Christmas, or Hanukkah, or whatever other holiday this is! People expect - no, they _deserve_ to be totally bedazzled, and we can’t just put out the same old boring flowers as always. We gotta come up with something really special.”

“I guess…” Dipper murmured unconvincingly, frowning to himself as he pondered their options. People _did_ tend to buy a lot of bouquets for the holidays, but as much as he loved Mabel and her endless supply of ideas, he wasn’t sure going all out with the glue guns and sequins was really going to cut it, since they also generally preferred their flowers to look, well, natural. And they’d have their hands full just managing the shop anyway, with both Soos and Wendy on break. Still, Mabel was right that the displays probably needed a little something extra, he just didn’t know how they were going to find the time to…

“ Who _ aaaargh…! _ ”

Dipper’s train of thought was abruptly cut off my his own startled cry as he felt something curl around his ankle; he made a clumsy attempt to kick it away, but stumbled and tripped, gravity pulling him suddenly and painfully into a face full of sidewalk. 

“ Oh my gosh, Dipper, what was  _ that _ ?!” He heard Mabel hastily stifle her snort of laughter as he groaned, still reeling from the impact as his nose started to throb painfully and she immediately hooked her arm under his, helping him back to his feet. “Bro, you okay? That looked,  _ ow _ , how did you even manage to…?”

“Hey, Pine Tree! Watch out for that sidewalk!”

That name - that _voice_ \- it sent an instantly familiar chill of dread running down Dipper’s spine, a sharp contrast to the pain and humiliation burning in his face. 

“ Bill?” Mabel exclaimed, confirming his fears as she spun them both around, dragging Dipper along with her to confront his presumed assailant. “Bill  _ Cipher?! _ ”

“The one and only, Shooting Star!” Oh, it was him all right - the guy who’d made Dipper’s high school days a living nightmare, tapping the cane that had presumably just tripped him with a satisfied, shark-like grin as though it was the most normal thing in the world to be hanging out in a shop doorway dressed like…whatever he was dressed like, glittering golden coattails over a smart black shirt that made him look like he’d just stepped out of one of the Christmas displays. Which, as he tipped the impractically tall top hat somehow defying gravity to remain on his head in greeting, Dipper wouldn’t be surprised if he had. “Oh, it’s good to be back. Let’s see, how long’s it been…?”

“Not long enough,” Dipper muttered, the comeback kind of ruined by being muffled by his hand as he clutched his swollen nose. Clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders, he continued: “Seriously? You couldn’t just tap me on the shoulder like a normal person?”

“Sure, I could’ve, but then I wouldn’t get to see the look on your face!” Bill laughed, an unsettling nasal cackle as he pointed his cane at Dipper’s incredulous expression. “That's the one. Besides, can’t a guy surprise his old buddies every once in a while?”

_Buddies_ –  yeah, Dipper might have believed that for a few weeks back in high school, when Bill, two years above him and Mabel, had seemed so cool and funny and charming. He’d even promised Dipper that he’d make him the most popular guy in school, as long as he did exactly what Bill told him to. Boy, had _that_ worked out great – assuming your idea of “great” was being the laughing stock of the school for months and then being tormented by Bill and his gang of goons every day after. 

“Um, excuse me? Friends?” Mabel echoed his thoughts, planting her hands on her hips as she fixed Bill with a protective glare, moving to stand just slightly in front of Dipper. “What about all those times you pushed Dipper down the stairs?

Dipper couldn’t help wincing a little – okay, it was sweet that Mabel had his back, but did she really have to announce it to the whole street? – as Bill nodded, his face lighting up with sadistic glee. “I do remember! Good times.”

“And then there was that time you poured soda into his eyes...”

“A classic.”

“...and that thing with the forks?! _That_ was just messed –“

“ _ Mabel, _ “  Dipper finally interjected, his cheeks growing hotter not only from the curious glances they were attracting but also how Bill was clearly drinking in his discomfort, rubbing his gloved hands together as his grin grew wider by the second. “I’m - pretty sure we all remember."

“Boy, do we ever.” Bill wiped an imaginary tear from his eye – the one that wasn’t obscured by a triangular eyepatch, okay, that was new – before continuing. “But, listen, let’s stroll down memory lane some other time. Fact is, I just _might_ have a very exciting proposition for you two.”

“Uh-huh,” Dipper said flatly, because _that_ had always worked out great for them in the past, with his best attempt at a withering stare although Bill was, annoyingly, still a good few heads taller than him. “And we’d ever accept any kind of offer from you because…?”

Bill clutched at his heart, or the gaping void where one should have been, theatrically. “Pine Tree, so cynical! Look, I get it – you’re big-time flower children now, business is blooming, yadda yadda –“ Dipper shot Mabel a warning glance as he heard her unsuccessfully stifle a snort at the stupid pun, “but! You need something special for the holidays, right? A little extra sparkle, give ‘em the ol’ razzle dazzle? Sounds to me like you could really use an extra pair of hands.”

“ Wait – that’s what this is about?” Dipper couldn’t believe it – or rather, he could totally believe it, because this was just one of many ways the universe loved to screw him over. “Are you asking for a  _ job _ ?”

“Ding ding ding! Sharp as ever, Pine Tree.” Bill spread his hands, as though he’d just bestowed upon them the greatest gift imaginable. “I know it’s hard to believe, folks, but my services _are_ currently available. Limited time offer, though, so…”

“So we say no _way_ ,” Mabel snapped, pink flush rising to her cheeks as she folded her arms over her sweater, hugging herself against the cold. “After everything you did to us, you _seriously_ think we’d hire you?”

“Are we _still_ on that? C’mon, Shooting Star, I thought you were the fun twin.” Bill rolled his eye, somehow exuding twice the exasperation. “Didn't we establish that that was just my eccentric yet ultimately lovable way of showing affection?"

“You _literally_ just broke his nose!”

“Mabel!” Dipper was really starting to wish he’d get spontaneously swallowed up by a portal to – anywhere, preferably as far away from Bill Cipher as possible, as even more people turned to point and whisper and he rubbed at his nose to cover his burning shame. “Would you just...it’s not broken, okay?”

“See? He’s tougher than you give him credit for.” Bill flashed Dipper a triumphant wink – at least he thought it was a wink, kind of hard to tell – and his heart sank as he realised he’d played right into his hands. 

“That’s right, I’m fine,” Dipper said, summoning up all the authority and decisiveness he absolutely didn’t feel as he looked Bill in the eye, “and the shop’s doing just fine, too. We don’t need any help, and if we did, you’re the last person in the world we’d get it from. But we do need to get back to work.” Their lunch hour was almost over, and they still hadn’t gotten anything productive done as Dipper caught his sister’s eye and jerked his head meaningfully in the opposite direction. “Come on, Mabel, let’s go.”

She didn’t need any further encouragement, and Dipper couldn’t help grinning when

waggled her fingers at Bill as though they were actually twelve again -– except this time, he felt a pang of relief being able to walk away without thinking about Bill waiting for him outside school later.

“Alright, think about it!” Bill called, his grating voice seeming to echo down the street after them even when they picked up the pace. “I’ll keep an eye out for you!"

“Am I crazy,” Mabel asked once they were out of earshot, “or did that actually just happen? Talk about a blast from the past.”

“I’d go with both,” Dipper responded, managing a wry grin despite the lingering unease in his stomach, even now his nose had more or less stopped throbbing. “Same old Bill, huh. You don’t...you don’t think he was serious about wanting a job, do you?”

“ Pffft,  _ no _ !” Even if he could tell it was a little forced, his sister’s loud, infectious giggle-snort helped loosen the knot in Dipper’s stomach just a little. “Since when is Bill serious about anything? He’s probably just trying to mess with us – I mean, can you even imagine him arranging flowers? They’d be all like  _ woooosh _ –“  Mabel made a crackling noise as she flapped her hands either side of her head to demonstrate, “burned to smithereens just from him even looking at them.”

Dipper chuckled reluctantly and nodded, willing himself to be distracted by Mabel’s antics even if that scenario was kind of exactly what he was worried about, as they neared the familiar, colourful storefront of Pines and Posies. But she was right – as much as Bill seemingly lived for thinking up new ways to torment him, he was way too vain to actually consider _working_ for Dipper and Mabel, right? He had to be taunting them, but Dipper wasn’t going to fall for it, not this time. 

“Yeah, I’m just – not going to imagine that,” he replied as he opened the door, casting an eye over yesterday’s arrangements before the customers started pouring in and pushing all thoughts of Bill into the far reaches of his mind, where they belonged. “Alright, I guess we could try a _little_ glitter on those roses.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


As it turned out, Dipper didn’t even have to imagine his life going up in metaphorical flames.

He made his way down to the shop from the apartment he shared with Mabel, yawning as he scratched a hand through his hair in an attempt to wake up; he’d only managed a couple of hours’ sleep, thanks to some seriously surreal dreams about being turned into a sock puppet. Mabel was still upstairs handling some last-minute calls, so he was left to tidy the arrangements and attempt to be somewhat productive by going through the paperwork for the orders due to be collected that day before they opened up.

He was halfway through the pile when he heard something tapping against the frosted glass pane of the door. As they weren’t officially open, Dipper ignored it for as long as he could until the tapping grew steadily louder and more insistent, as though whoever was on the other side was ready to bust in by any means necessary.

“Alright, hold on, I’m coming,” he grumbled, walking over – only to feel his heart drop out of his stomach at the instantly familiar silhouette, blurred but no less infuriating.

“Pine Tree, look alive – you should’ve opened forty-five seconds ago! What kinda business are you running here? The early catch worms the bird, isn’t that what they say?”

It was way too early to attempt to make sense of any of that, so Dipper settled for just about biting back a loud groan as he unlocked the door, coming face to face with Bill leaning against the doorframe while eyeing an old-fashioned pocketwatch that, now Dipper saw it, didn't even have hands.

“What do you want?”

Bill  _ tsked _ , shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Is that how you greet all your loyal customers?”

“You're not my -” Dipper didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before Bill breezed right past him, clicking his cane on the floor as he stood in the middle of the shop floor, glancing around at all the carefully arranged bouquets. Dipper gritted his teeth, but the worst thing was, Bill had a point: now he was inside, he technically _was_ a customer. And he couldn’t really kick a customer out when they hadn’t - _technically_ \- done anything yet, so he decided just to ignore Bill and focus on his work before the actual customers started arriving.

It was a lot harder to concentrate on the forms, though, when he was so hyper-aware of Bill’s presence – he wasn’t even saying anything, wandering from one display to the next, but Dipper was compelled to keep looking over just in case he was planning to try anything funny with the arrangements he and Mabel had worked on for hours.

Only Bill Cipher could manage to be this intensely irritating before he’d even opened his mouth, a fact that was becoming increasingly clear to Dipper as he glanced up from the yellow acacias he’d been studying and flashed Dipper a wide-eyed, faux-innocent smile before sauntering over to the counter.

“Some nice blooms you got here,” he remarked, before proceeding to hop right up onto the cash desk, scattering Dipper’s carefully organised forms everywhere.

“ _Could you maybe not –_ “ Scrambling to grab the papers from the floor, Dipper used every last ounce of willpower to stifle his burning desire to scream – not only would it look really bad for business, he didn’t want to give Bill the satisfaction,  so he took a deep breath and plastered on his sweetest and least sincere smile. “ _Please_ get off my desk. You can’t sit there.”

Bill made a show of looking around. “I don't see any sign that says that.”

“We don't need a sign. It's common sense.”

“ Oh,  _ common sense _ ! That's cute.” Bill chuckled, swinging his distractingly long legs over the side. “I haven't needed that in a long time.”

Before Dipper had the chance to shove him off the desk, Mabel burst in, clutching an enormous box of assorted flowers – many of which were now scattered in her hair –  but glowing with excitement despite looking a little like she’d literally been dragged through a hedge.

“Dipper, hold onto your socks, ‘cause I am about to knock them _off!_ I just got off the phone with Pacifica and – oh hey, Bill – wait, _Bill?_ –  never mind, explain later – the Northwests totally want us to do their Christmas party this year!”

“ Wait,  _ seriously _ ?” Just about making sense of his sister’s breathless , Dipper’s jaw dropped. ”Us? But that’s huge! There’s no way we’ll be able to put all that together in time –“ 

“C’mon, broseph, where’s your holiday spirit - where there’s a Pines, there’s a way! Remember?” It still didn’t really make sense, but Dipper smiled anyway at their old childhood mantra despite, well, everything as Mabel rattled the box, her smile bright and hopeful and just a little manic.  “We can totally do this – we just gotta get in there and start arranging the most beautiful bouquets of all time like our lives depend on it! Which...they kind of might, if we ever want to show our faces again in this town,” she added with a sheepish giggle, before dumping the box on the counter – sending all the forms flying again, but whatever, it wasn’t like they _needed_ them or anything – and starting to root through the flowers. “Oh, also, we need to get these out today.”

Watching the scene unfold, Bill quirked an eyebrow in interest as he looked from Mabel and the flowers back to Dipper. “Sounds like a pretty big opportunity. Something you _really_ wouldn’t want to screw up. Now, if only you folks had a willing extra pair of hands or five.”

Dipper sighed, rubbing his temple where he could already feel a headache coming on - and they still hadn’t even opened yet. “Look, even if we _were_ hiring, you can’t just walk in here and –“

“You really want to help?” Mabel interrupted, squinting at him suspiciously before pushing the box across the desk in Bill’s direction (Dipper clutched the forms safely to his chest this time). “Sounds like a bunch of bull, but – sure! Go for it! Consider this your audition.”

Dipper shot her a  _ whose side are you on anyway?  _ wounded look; Mabel just shrugged and pulled a vaguely apologetic face that translated as  _ sorry but we really need this gig even if we have to hire your actual mortal enemy to do it.  _ (It was a twin thing.)

Even more worryingly, Bill actually seemed to be concentrating on something other than making Dipper’s life terrible for once: he plucked a handful of seemingly random flowers from the box and his gloved fingers got to work, moving practically in a blur as he arranged them, snipped a few stems here and there, and then bound and wrapped them together, finishing off with a neat bow and presenting them to Dipper with a flourish.

“Done. Did I pass?”

Dipper glanced over at his sister again, who simply raised her eyebrows in Mabel-speak for _damn, he’s good_ \- and maybe he was, but Dipper still didn’t totally buy that it wasn’t a fluke, or he’d somehow cheated; he wouldn’t have put it past him to somehow sneak a whole bouquet up his sleeve, because it was _Bill_. 

“I guess that’s...not bad,” he admitted grudgingly, pushing the bouquet out of his face. Feeling his heart sinking, he glanced at his watch - it was almost opening time, they didn’t have time for this. “Alright - if you _really_ want to stick around and help with some arrangements, fine. But don’t think this means that…”

“...you _like_ me or anything!” Bill finished in a squeaky falsetto that a. didn’t sound anything like Dipper and b. wasn’t even close to what he was going to say anyway, but at least he finally slid off the counter. “No danger there, pal, I hear you loud and clear.”

“Just don’t get in the way,” he sighed, narrowing his eyes pointedly at Mabel instead to signal _this is mostly your fault, have fun keeping an eye on him all day_ (ugh, now _he_ was the one inadvertently making stupid puns); she nodded almost imperceptibly, a steely determination glinting in her eye before she turned to Bill, looping her arm in his and nudging him in the side with a deceptively sugary smile.

“ Come on, newbie, better show me some of that flower power,” he heard her saying as he went to turn the shop sign over to  _ open _ , and by the time Dipper looked back, they’d disappeared into the back room.

A _little_ worrying - though whether more for Mabel or for Bill was debatable - but Dipper took a deep breath and plastered on his best customer-ready smile, as the shop soon began to fill up and he turned his attention back to the forms, making sure everything was in place for the customers awaiting their painstakingly selected bouquets. After a while, Mabel rejoined him and they fell into their usual switching roles relatively seamlessly Mabel chatting to some customers about what they wanted for their upcoming wedding while Dipper took over tidying the displays and putting out the fruits - or well, flowers - of her and Bill’s labour.

After some fairly intense eyebrow conversations, they more or less agreed that Bill could help out, not having screwed up any of his bouquets so far - if he focused on work and didn’t get under anyone’s feet. And it actually kind of _worked -_ or at least, Dipper was distracted enough with everything going on to tune out Bill’s constant chatter, and Bill must have eventually got bored with needling him for a reaction. But he’d somehow managed to pull the most unpredictable twist of all out of his ridiculous hat: it wasn’t a fluke, Bill was _good_ at this. His long arms moved unnervingly fast yet surprisingly graceful as he rearranged existing bouquets (without being asked, but Dipper bit his tongue rather than admitting that actually, yeah, those colours _did_ go better) and crafted new ones, somehow never ending up with tape stuck awkwardly to his sleeve or ribbon tangled around his fingers like Dipper always did. Things were running a lot faster with the three of them, and as long as Dipper or Mabel kept a watchful eye out to make sure he was…

...wait, where _was_ he? Having presumably slipped away while Dipper was distracted, his heart plummeted when he spotted Bill hanging out by the hydrangeas - and _talking to a customer_.

Making his way over as subtly as he could manage, pretending to rearrange some bunches while ready to step in, he caught snatches of conversation - it sounded almost like Bill was being  _ helpful,  _ guiding the woman through the different assortments on offer and earnestly explaining the meanings of each, even holding up a tulip to her greying hair as he informed her he was shocked,  _ shocked _ , that someone so lovely wasn’t drowning in bouquets from her many admirers already.

Dipper attempted to shoot him a  _ don’t even think about trying anything  _ warning glare over the blooms, but Bill was so focused on his target he didn’t seem to notice, and it felt...weird, if he was honest with himself, remembering just how charming and funny Bill could be when he wanted to. It all came back too quickly, how it felt to be the focus of all that energy; he had this way of making you feel special, just to be worthy of holding his attention. His sharp, hazel eyes, always that little bit too bright, almost seemed to see into your soul, as though he’d figured out everything you wanted and feared most in a single glance, but he still grinned and laughed and nodded along as though your were most captivating person he’d ever met, until Dipper - uh, the customer, he quickly amended - was ready to go along with anything he suggested, no matter how ridiculous.

They weren’t in high school any more and Dipper knew just how much any of Bill’s promises were worth - but his stomach still did a weird little flip as Bill’s eyes finally flicked up to his, feeling like he’d been somehow caught outas his smirk widened and he led the lady over to the till.

She left laden down with bouquets, glowing with happiness as Mabel rang up her purchases, and Dipper was positive it was all way too good to be true.

“Alright,” he said with a long-suffering sigh, folding his arms and meeting Bill’s eye with a challenging stare once they were out of earshot of any customers, “what’d you do? How many refunds are we handing out tomorrow?”

Bill just scoffed, cocking his head in exaggerated curiosity. “Call me crazy, Pine Tree, but I’m starting to get the impression you don’t trust me. You don’t think the lovely Susan there deserves the finest arrangement to express her deepest affections - white roses for innocent charm, accented with pink for the all-important happiness and gratitude? Then, of course, you got your yellow but with the strong connotations of friendship I didn’t feel like that was _quite_ what she had in mind, so mix it up with some coral and a little orange and well, I’m pretty sure _that’s_ a message those of us versed in the subtle art of floriography can appreciate. Am I right?” He finished with the stupid blink-wink of someone who _knew_ he was right and was having way too much fun making Dipper admit it.

“Well, uh, I mean...yeah, I _guess_ , but that’s not really…” Dipper silently cursed himself for sounding like such a dork, but his mind had leapt into overdrive - he’d been prepared to wake up to a store full of frazzled flowers, or worse, but Bill was throwing him off the trail by apparently actually having done his homework. It was almost like he really _did_ want this job, but...but why? He wasn’t sure he’d ever managed figured out why Bill ever did anything, beyond “for shits and giggles”. “The point is,” he continued, attempting to muster up what little authority he had, “we never agreed you could bother the customers, in case you forgot already.”

“Gee, boss, I’m _sorry_ I had the audacity to actually go and sell some flowers,” Bill replied without missing a beat, widening his eye and batting his weirdly long lashes in faux-remorse. “Guess I won’t be making _that_ mistake again.”

“ Right, you won’t, because…” Dipper was ready to send him on his way, though it was still a while until closing time, but -  _ boss _ , even in witheringly sarcastic tones, that had a kind of oddly satisfying ring to it. And despite all of his better judgement, curiosity was starting to get the better of him: he had to find out exactly what kind of game Bill was playing this time, even if it came at a terrible cost - like keeping him around for another few hours.

“Shouldn’t you be sweeping up some stems or something?” he finished - kind of lame, but it’d do, as through some kind of twin telepathy Mabel sidled over and thrust Bill the broom she’d been tidying up with into his hands. They shared a conspiratorial smile, and it slightly eased Dipper’s nagging suspicion that he’d just made a terrible, terrible mistake; it was almost worth it just to see Bill’s nose briefly wrinkle in distaste at being handed such a menial task before his usual cocky grin slid back into place and he twirled the broom around, catching it in his other hand like a dance partner.

“Aw, Pine Tree. I thought you’d never ask.”

  
  


* * *

“Wait, whaaat - you want to _keep_ him now?”

“No, I do _not_ want to keep him,” Dipper protested, rolling his eyes a little at Mabel’s phrasing, as though Bill was a stray kitten he’d spontaneously adopted. “Believe me, I would rather have literally anyone else in the world in this position. But...we don’t have anyone else. There’s no way we can get the Northwests’ order filled and keep the shop running with just the two of us - we need all the help we can get. Even if it is...well, Bill’s kind of help.”

“ I guess…” Mabel chewed on her sweater sleeve, a habit she’d had since they were kids, as her comically incredulous expression softened and there was an unmistakable glimmer of concern in her eyes as they met Dipper’s. “But are you sure you’re cool with him hanging around all  _ day _ ? In high school…”

“ Mabel, we’re not in high school any more,” Dipper pointed out before she could finish, a little more defensive than he’d intended - he didn’t need reminding, but he also didn’t want Mabel to feel like he needed protecting from Bill even now. “What’s the worst Bill can - actually, maybe let’s not think about that. The point is, we’ve moved on. He can’t exactly go and stick my head down a toilet if he’s working for me - uh, for  _ us _ . I put up with Bill every day for four years, I think I can handle a few more weeks if that’s what it takes.”

“Oooh, my brother, the big hero taking on the big bad Bill,” Mabel teased, laughing when Dipper elbowed her in the side in retaliation; it was reassuring, though, to see the concern brighten into her usual relentless optimism. “Seriously, though - that’s the spirit! And you know I got your back, GI Bro - if he tries anything funny, he’ll be out on his cute little butt faster than you can say...what?!” She widened her eyes in mock indignance, failing to look offended as her expression shifted into a sly smirk. “Oh, c’mon, don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh my god, Mabel, _why_ ,” Dipper groaned, mildly horrified yet totally unsurprised by this possible ulterior motive as he buried his face in one hand, partly for effect and partly to cover any unhelpful hint of a blush at the insinuation _he_ had any interest in looking at Bill’s butt, even if it had been perched right in his eyeline for most of the day. He should’ve seen this coming, really: Mabel was still Mabel, and Bill was...he _supposed_ technically attractive, if you liked that kind of thing, and didn’t mind it served with a completely insufferable personality. “Please, please promise me you’re not actually gonna…”

Mabel snorted and reached out to pat him on the back semi-reassuringly. “ _Noooo_ , I’m kidding. I would never. For all of the reasons - first being that I’m pretty sure _I’m_ not exactly his type, if you know what I mean.” (Dipper didn’t, really, but he also didn’t want this conversation to go on any longer than it already had) “I’m just saying...if you’re _gonna_ somehow end up selling flowers with your mortal enemy, he might as well be easy on the eye, right? Get it?” She nudged him repeatedly in the ribs, waggling her eyebrows expectantly. “On the _eye_...y’know, cause he’s got that whole eyepatch thing going on? Huh?”

“I get that you have _no_ standards or loyalty,” Dipper retorted as he pushed her away; Mabel just stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at him in response, and the moment they locked eyes they both inevitably dissolved into laughter. Maybe it’d be okay, Dipper was starting to think: there were two of them and only one Bill, after all, so theoretically it shouldn’t be too hard to keep him in line. And even if keeping him on was a terrible decision, at least it wasn’t only Dipper’s terrible decision. 

Anyway, things _were_ different now. Bill was on their turf, and now Dipper was the one with the power, which he couldn’t deny gave him a little bit of a petty thrill. He wasn’t some scared kid any more, cowering away and hoping that maybe, this time, Bill would leave him alone - he was a grown and technically responsible adult, with half of his own business. If Bill really wanted this job, he’d have to play by his rules - in theory, anyway, at least most of the time. Some of the time? Maybe occasionally?

Dipper had always liked theories; collecting information, laying it out all neat and logical, figuring out how all the pieces fit together. Even if it turned out he’d been way off, everything still made some kind of  _ sense _ , which was a lot more than he could say for reality.

_His_ reality, on the other hand - he had a feeling that was about to get a whole lot messier.

  
  


* * *

“Bill, did you take care of that display?” Dipper asked, distractedly flipping through his clipboard of paperwork - they still had a big order of birds of paradise due that afternoon, and they wouldn’t finish the arrangements for the Northwests on time if they didn’t arrive soon - and bracing himself for the inevitable colourful excuse.

“ Sure did, boss!” came the bright and cheerful reply, which rang immediate alarm bells as he glanced up; after the initial thrill had worn off, it was never good when Bill called him  _ boss _ . Or, well, anything else. 

“Alright, what did you…?” He made his way over to the central counter, where he’d been foolish enough to leave Bill with an assortment of polystyrene balls for the display: he’d arranged them in a triangular formation, with the bulk of it consisting of bright yellow flowers - daffodils, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, a scattering of marigolds. Towards the middle they paled into an elegant oval of white lilies and gardenias, and right in the centre was a small cluster of black roses, creating the effect of a soulless, all-seeing eye it was weirdly difficult to look away from . It was... _something_. Maybe even kind of striking, in an avant-garde way? But it definitely wasn’t their style - it looked like it belonged in another shop, a different _dimension_ entirely, peering out from all the colourful and occasionally glittery festive bouquets surrounding it.

“ _ Bill _ ,” Dipper sighed, not for the first time that day, hour or minute, as he gestured to the eyesore with an increasingly incredulous frown, “what...what exactly is this supposed to be?”

“ That, Pine Tree,” Bill answered, in the kind of patient tone you might explain to a particularly dumb five year old, but beaming from ear to ear with a rare and disarmingly genuine pride that might even have been kind of endearing, in any other circumstance, on any other person, “is  _ art _ .”

As it was, he’d have to be content with taking a deep breath and tightening his hands around his clipboard to keep from punching anything. “I gave you  _ instructions _ .”

“ You sure did, buddy.” Bill chuckled and ruffled Dipper’s hair, as though it was the most adorably naive thing he’d ever heard. “See, I interpreted them more as suggestions. So maybe we might spook the more close-minded folk, but I figured  _ you  _ at least would have a little more creative eye for these things.”

Dipper forced himself to laugh too, meeting Bill’s eye with an unconvincing grimace he nevertheless refused to back down on as he swatted his gloved fingers away. 

“That’s, uh...creative, alright. But I’m just gonna suggest that maybe you should _reinterpret_ whatever that is into something a little more - and by that, I mean at all - in line with what I asked for?”

Dipper didn’t really expect Bill to do anything that was asked of him, figuring that he or Mabel would have to fix things up when the shop was quieter - but as it turned out, the new display drew a lot of attention, curious glances and murmurs of interest, and a few comments on the “intriguing new direction”. Someone even asked for a bouquet in the exact same arrangement, leaving Dipper a little concerned for whoever ended up being on the receiving end of  _ that _ . Some customers were a little more wary.

“Aww, don’t be scared, little guy - it’s just, um...Santa!” Mabel attempted to reassure a freaked-out kid, convinced the eye was following him around the room while simultaneously arranging a bouquet for his mom. “Yeah! That’s our traditional triangle Santa right there - better be good, cause he’s got his _eye_ on you! Heh…” Her slightly manic smile wavered at the edges for a moment as the kid didn’t seem convinced, glancing fearfully between Mabel and the arrangement. “We were just about to give him his hat - weren’t we, Dipper?” She caught his gaze from across the room with huge, pleading eyes.

Frantically searching the back room for a Santa hat wasn’t exactly how he envisioned spending his day, but Dipper had to admit the look on Bill’s face was kind of funny, somewhere between smug that his...thing had proved so popular, and a touch offended at his artistic vision being compromised when Dipper replaced the tall black top hat crowning it with the more traditional fluffy red and white number. By the end of the day, the eye - or what was left of it - was starting to look a lot like how Dipper felt: overworked, exhausted and badly in need of a nap.

Predictably, though, he was still awake long after they’d closed up, tossing and turning restlessly in between unsettling dreams: first he was drowning in Pitt Cola, then being sucked up through the roots of a particularly thirsty and malicious sunflower. Dipper rolled over for the hundredth time, stifling a frustrated groan into his pillow - he’d barely be able to function tomorrow if he didn’t get some sleep soon, but that seemed impossible for the time being, so maybe some hot cocoa would help.

He rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen, but just as he passed the living room he caught sight of a mysterious silhouette fluttering through the shadows, the light filtering through the window just barely illuminating the distinctive outline of a figure on the couch.

Dipper screamed - and so did the shadow, as he fumbled for the light switch with one hand and grabbed for the nearest solid object to defend himself with the other.

“Geez, Pine Tree, give a guy a little warning!”

“Bill?!” Dipper blinked in the sudden harsh light, clutching his...confetti gun (thanks, Mabel) as the fear twisting in his stomach gave way to a too-familiar frustration, because no, this had to still be a dream or a hallucination or something, _please_. “What the _hell_ \- why are you - _how_ did you even…”

Bill twirled what Dipper now recognised as his spare key around his finger, jangling it conspicuously. “You should be more careful with these, y’know. Some real weirdos could get in.”

“Why would you -“ nope, Dipper was not having this conversation now, or any other time. “You know what, I don’t care - just give me those and get out.”

“Without even finishing my snack first?” Bill waved the KitKat - _Dipper’s_ KitKat - he’d been munching in his other hand, taking a bite out of all four fingers at once. “Gotta say, that’s some pretty poor hospitality -“

“Get out of my house _now_ or I’m calling the cops.”

“Aw, Pine Tree, are you trying to _threaten_ me? That’s adorable, seriously. I’m actually a little proud.” Bill feigned wiping away a tear, but Dipper thought he detected the slightest waver of uncertainty in his voice. “We both know you’re not really gonna do that to your old pal -“

“ Oh,  _ sure.”  _ Dipper let out a snort, equal parts, equal parts incredulity and sleep-deprived hysteria. “Give me any reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Because - because we’re slowly establishing some kind of unspoken bond based on mutual antagonism but a grudging yet growing respect that…” Bill’s eye widened in what looked like genuine alarm as Dipper reached for his phone - which, obviously, he didn’t have because it was still in his room and he was standing here in front of Bill Cipher in nothing but his old BABBA t-shirt and boxers, because all of his high school nightmares were now reality. 

Except, that is, for how Bill hadn’t drawn attention to that fact to make fun of him; he seemed to tire of his own spiel, trailing off as, for maybe the first time since Dipper had met him, his grin faltered and then faded, and he raised both arms in a show of surrender. “Alright, okay - look, Pine Tree, I’ll level with you. I may not have been entirely honest with you before.”

“Gee, I never would’ve seen _that_ plot twist coming,” Dipper said dryly; Bill snorted half-heartedly, but otherwise opted to ignore him.

“Fact of the matter is, I sorta don’t...exactly have anywhere else to sleep tonight.”

“ You don’t - wait,  _ what _ ?” That made Dipper pause, his eyes narrowing first in confusion then suspicion - whatever he’d been expecting Bill to come out with next, it wasn’t that. “You mean you don’t have a...you’re not…?”

“Ugh, don’t give me those sickening chihuahua eyes.” Bill flapped a - gloveless, Dipper noticed - hand at him irritably. “I’m not out on the streets, I have places. I know people - just, as it happens, maybe not so many of those people want to know _me_ at this point.”

Well, that part wasn’t too difficult to believe either - but somehow Dipper’s urge to make a smart remark faded as he cast a sidelong glance at Bill, realising he seemed...different. Like his usual manic energy was missing, discarded along with his hat, gloves and bow tie, his shirt a few buttons looser than it had been earlier in the day and honey-coloured hair curling into the nape of his neck as though he was a little overdue for a haircut. He looked  _ tired _ , a conspicuous dark circle under his visible eye, and it was kind of throwing Dipper off as he cleared his throat awkwardly. “What about, I mean...your family?”

Bill let out a soft, surprisingly bitter chuckle at that. “Oh boy, story time already. Fine, sit.” He patted the sofa cushion beside him, and out of pure exhaustion Dipper let himself flop down before he could acknowledge the absurdity of waiting to be offered a seat in his own house by the guy who’d just broken in. Bill shifted to look at him, maintaining a typically uncomfortable level of eye contact as he tapped his leather-clad left eye. “You wanna know why I wear this thing, Pine Tree?”

Dipper had figured the answer was along the lines of “because you’re a pretentious ass”, but somehow that didn’t seem appropriate any more, so he just shrugged and shook his head. 

Silently, Bill lifted the triangular patch and Dipper tried not to wince; the flesh underneath was swollen and disfigured, his other eye barely visible under the ugly blue bruise that faded to yellow around the edges. “You can’t tell, but I’m winking.”

“Oh, uh...wow,” was all Dipper could come up with, his stomach churning the longer he looked at it. “How - how did….?”

“My old man,” Bill replied. “Walked in on me in bed with...I don't remember his name. Nobody important. I know, right?” he continued, before Dipper could respond. “In this day and age, etcetera - painfully cliche. Honestly kinda embarrassing, but he didn’t really give me much of chance to point it out. So!” He tugged the patch back into place, flinching slightly from the contact through an unnaturally wide smile. “There ya go - one tragic backstory, sunny side up, no refunds. Funny, you probably already think I’m lying, and let me assure you I’m prematurely insulted if you think I couldn't come up with a million origin stories better than _that_ before breakfast.”

“No, I don't think you’re  - I mean, uh…hey, man, I’m sorry,” Dipper mumbled, shifting his eyes awkwardly away from Bill’s face to his own clasped hands. “I didn’t know - I mean, that’s - that really sucks.”

He was already cringing at how hopelessly insincere and inadequate he sounded, so he couldn’t really blame Bill for scoffing at him this time. “Right. You’re a lousy liar, Pine Tree - bad for business, you know. Remind me to give you some tips sometime.”

He grinned as Dipper met his eye again, teeth seeming somehow sharper than usual, and - yeah, as much as he knew by now to doubt every word out of Bill’s mouth, he’d heard a lot of his stories over the years and they were always more inventive than this. This was more the standard of bad teen dramas, which meant it was probably true. Which was really...even though Bill was, well,  _ Bill _ , and as many punch-worthy things as he did every day, Dipper couldn’t even imagine how it must feel getting that from your own family. Especially for what or whoever they did in bed, but he really didn’t want to dwell on that particular image for too long.

Before Dipper could defend himself, though, Bill was shaking his head, waving a hand dismissively. “Hey, I get it, _I’m_ not gonna blame you for enjoying this. Go ahead, drink it in - karma’s a bitch, right? Me crawling to _you_ of all people for help, after all these years? Heh, couldn’t even make it up.” But there was a defensive edge to his smile Dipper didn’t remember ever seeing before, a hollow quality to his chuckle that - while pretty rich coming from someone who’d tormented him for years and _then_ broken into his house - made Dipper’s stomach twist in something uncomfortably close to guilt.

“ I’m not like that,” he said quietly, still letting the information sink in, trying to get the pieces to fit. “I just...I don’t get it. If that’s the real reason you wanted this job - or even maybe somewhere to stay - why didn’t you tell us? I mean - maybe not about  _ everything _ , but - if you’d just been straight with us from the start, then maybe…”

“Then maybe _what_ \- you’d have adopted me into your cosy little setup just like that, ‘cause that’s just the kind of swell guy you are, so grown up and mature and forgiving? Gag me.” Bill rolled his eye and stuck out his tongue, letting his head fall dramatically back against the couch, but the mischievous sparkle was back in his eye, and Dipper was weirdly kind of relieved. “C’mon, Pine Tree, if you haven’t figured it out by now, being straight’s not exactly my style.” - okay, Dipper had to admit he’d kind of set himself up for that one as he struggled not to smile. “Anyway, where’s the fun in being a charity case? I figured, it’s been a while, your dull little life could probably use some shaking up - least I could do is pull something more interesting out of my hat for the big reunion.”

“The big…” Dipper didn’t even know how to respond to that. There _was_ no logical response to this...whatever it was called when the guy who’d made your teenage years a living hell stalks you, somehow dupes you into giving him a job, breaks into your apartment and then acts like he’s doing you a huge favour. Before he could help it, he let out a snort, which turned into a chuckle, which escalated to full-blown, borderline hysterical giggles, which Bill immediately joined in with, his nasal cackle obnoxiously infectious yet somehow...warmer than usual, missing its usual mocking tone. Maybe because this time he wasn’t laughing at Dipper - well, he was, but since Dipper was also laughing at Dipper, he wasn’t sure who the joke was on, or of anything any more except that after everything it was weirdly therapeutic, and almost companionable.

“You…” he spluttered, when he’d managed to sober up enough to look at Bill without both of  them losing it again, “you are totally, completely insane.”

“Sure,” he agreed, still snickering a little. “What’s your point?”

“And, you know, I hated you so much.”

“Kind of ten years late on that breaking news bulletin, but go on.”

“ More than anything. You were the  _ worst _ .”

“ _That’s_ more like it. Come on, Pine Tree, turn up the heat!”

Dipper rolled his eyes, but had to stifle another smile as Bill wasn’t exactly disproving his point. “And it’s not like you’ve _changed_ since high school. You’ve turned the store upside down - literally.” He still hadn’t figured out when Bill had transferred all the stem and petal debris to the ceiling, let alone _how_ he’d engineered them to fall on Dipper’s head throughout the day no matter how often they changed positions. “There’s no way any other place wouldn’t have fired you at least twenty times by now and that’s _without_ the whole breaking and entering thing.”

“ Stop,  _ stop _ , there’s only so much flattery I can -“

“ _But_.” Finally it was Dipper’s turn to interrupt, even if he wasn’t sure whether he was really trying to justify his terrible business and life decisions more to Bill or himself at this point. “You’re...actually pretty good at this stuff? I guess you have an eye - ugh, that _wasn’t intentional_ \- for flower arrangements, and...don’t ask me why, but the customers seem to like you.” Actually, Dipper had a pretty good idea why, but he knew he’d be made to regret ever acknowledging that maybe, possibly, Bill wasn’t _always_ the absolute worst _all_ of the time. Maybe he’d even mellowed to just 98% asshole, because in the last few weeks, he’d occasionally come suspiciously close to being useful. He couldn’t deny they got a lot more done around the place, anyway, even if half of it they hadn’t asked for or imagined anyone would ever want. 

Not, obviously, that Dipper was dumb enough to tell him that, because Bill would definitely make him regret taking him on even more than he did already...and yet. Maybe it was the light, or just Dipper’s sanity finally snapping, but for a moment he swore Bill’s ever-present smug grin softened, the light in his eye looking almost like genuine gratitude, and for a moment he looked - well, human, as opposed to the chaotic force of evil Dipper always suspected someone had summoned specifically to make his life miserable. If Dipper didn’t know better, he might even have thought he saw a glimmer of vulnerability - and, actually, it wasn’t a bad look on him.

“Aw, Pine Tree, you smooth talker.” The moment lasted maybe half a second and he was Bill again, smirking as he stretched his legs out across the sofa to nudge Dipper’s bare knee where his shorts ended with his foot. “Betcha say that to all your houseguests.”

“Uh, no, because ‘guest’ would imply that I ever wanted you in my house in any capacity,” Dipper retorted, willing himself not to blush as he wriggled  as far away across the sofa as possible. “And, you know, I can still call the cops.”

“So you keep saying.” Bill yawned, predictably undeterred, and stretched his lanky frame right out across the sofa and Dipper like a cat, effectively trapping him - seriously, how were his legs so damn long? “But, just saying, I haven't seen a whole of cop-calling going on.”

“Yeah, well,” Dipper mumbled, shifting uncomfortably both from the invasion of his personal space and the unavoidable question filling the space between them (metaphorically, as Bill hadn’t actually left him any). Any sane person would’ve kicked Bill out hours ago, and Dipper didn’t doubt that he deserved every bit of whatever was waiting for him out there, but...the thought sat uncomfortably, that if Bill ended up on the streets in the freezing cold, if anything _did_ happen to him, it’d still kind of be Dipper’s fault. And no matter how many times Bill had put _him_ through worse, he knew he’d never be able to sleep with that on his conscience.

“ Alright,” he sighed, finally shoving Bill’s legs off of him and earning an exaggerated double take in return, but they stayed on the floor. “I’m going to bed. And I guess…” He hesitated as he met Bill’s eye, the atmosphere suddenly awkward between them in a way it never had been before. “Well, you’ve gotta be here for work in a few hours anyway, so -  _ just for tonight _ . I mean it,” he added sternly, narrowing his eyes in the international gesture for ‘no funny business. “You’re just lucky Mabel isn’t here tonight.”

“I know, she’s ‘networking’ over at Pacifica’s place.” Bill waggled his visible brow with audible finger-quotes, but he sounded almost proud. “That girl gets results, gotta hand it to her. Sure hope I didn’t interrupt any of _your_ important evening plans, though.”

“Yeah, you did - in bed,” Dipper snapped, and then felt his face immediately flush at the realisation when Bill smirked, his eye widening to ridiculous proportions in exaggerated interest - god, _phrasing_. “I mean alone. _Sleeping_. Seriously - do you _want_ to be out on the streets again?”

Bill snickered but offered no further comment, apparently distracted by constructing himself a nest out of various cushions. He had absolutely no right to be making himself that comfortable on Dipper’s sofa, curling up contentedly like he belonged there, but he did look sort of cu - well, he was a lot more bearable when he was too tired to tease Dipper quite as mercilessly as usual. “Mm’kay, Pine Tree, whatever you say - your sinful secrets are safe with me.”

“Just go to sleep and don’t touch anything.”

Dipper couldn’t claim to be surprised, really, when he woke up to find Bill gone, the entire contents of their kitchen drawers and cupboards rearranged and confetti in the kettle.

His spare key glinting conspicuously on the coffee table, though - _that_ he somehow hadn’t expected to see, even after trying it several times to confirm it wasn’t a fake.

Well. At least by Bill’s standards, he supposed, it wasn’t the worst.  
  


* * *

It had taken several long weeks of ordering, planning, negotiating, arranging, rearranging, stressing, arguing, all-nighters where they ended up covered in so many petals they resembled the world’s most pitiful bouquets themselves and Mabel declared she never wanted to see another flower ever again and was quitting to start her own stationery-based dating agency - but, somehow, they’d wrapped up the last of the orders. Only the finest and most fiercely debated selection of festive floral arrangements were on their way to the Northwests, and Dipper could finally, _finally_ relax, revelling in the immense satisfaction of locking the door and turning the shop sign around to ‘closed’.

“Mabel, you _definitely_ double checked they wanted the tiger lilies and not lily of the valley, right?” he called in the direction of the back room, where she’d gone supposedly to tidy up the leftover stock and more likely to get distracted playing around with the flowers.

“Y’know, what’d _really_ be unfortunate,” a voice that was definitely not Mabel’s chimed, “is finding out someone changed the entire order to petunias, black roses and aconites.”

It was a regular enough occurrence that Dipper didn’t jump any more, just rolled his eyes long-sufferingly when he turned around to see his surely-now-ex employee balancing precariously on the central display, one leg gracefully extended like a twisted Christmas fairy as he fixed flowers to the ceiling. “Bill, you were supposed to go ho - uh, finish work a half hour ago.”

He cleared his throat in an attempt to disguise the slip of the tongue - since Dipper started keeping a much tighter grip on his spare key, Bill hadn’t paid them any more surprise visits, and it was pretty much the only thing they never talked about. Dipper tried not to wonder where he _did_ go after work, much. But he sure wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up - not his business, and Bill would probably - would _definitely_ \- never let him hear the end of it if he ever got the (mistaken) impression that Dipper cared about his extracurricular activities. 

Fortunately, Bill either didn’t notice or was just as content to ignore the awkward pause in conversation as he stepped, practically _glided_ down from the counter in one fluid motion, steadying himself with one hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “All done! Hey, Pine Tree, where’s your Christmas spirit - I thought you’d be proud of me, doing things the _traditional_ way.”

“What are you even doing up - oh.” Dipper’s mouth suddenly felt a little dry as he looked up at what had to be their entire supply of mistletoe, stretching practically the whole length of the store. In a perfect triangle formation.

“I mean,” he said, putting every ounce of focus he had into fighting the blush that threatened to creep up, which Bill was definitely not helping by smirking at him like that. “Maybe a little prouder if you’d put those up when I asked you to three days ago. Also...” He shook his head in bemusement, not even sure where to start with all the _whys_ and _hows_ of the situation, even by Bill’s standards. “What’s with all the triangles, anyway?”

“‘Cause you’re such a square,” he answered cheerfully, and before Dipper could come up with an equally childish insult leaned even further into him, a pointy elbow digging into Dipper’s shoulder like he was Bill’s personal armrest.

“Yeah, well, you’re…” getting _way too close_ , and somehow it was really difficult to think of a cutting comeback when he could make out the smattering or freckles across Bill’s nose, and the flecks of green in his eye which seemed to be drawing imperceptibly closer, as though challenging him to move away - and _mistletoe_ , how corny and cliche was that, he should tell Bill he was losing his touch, who actually did that? But also, Dipper couldn’t help noticing, for a crazy homeless guy he smelled pretty good - wait a minute, wasn’t that _Dipper’s_ shampoo _-_

Bill leaned in and planted a loud, wet kiss right on the tip of his  _ nose _ , cutting off all of Dipper’s coherent thoughts.

“Traditional enough for you?” he asked, stepping smartly back out of punching distance with a chuckle while Dipper struggled to form actual words instead of the mortifying strangled squeaking noises currently coming from him as Bill tipped his hat towards the door. “‘Kay, come let me out and I’ll get out of your fluffy hair.”

No, nope, no _way_ , was Dipper’s single thought, when his brain had just about caught up, after everything, was he letting Bill get away with _that_ parting shot.

“Hey, Bill?” he managed, as casually as he was capable of (which wasn’t very). Bill turned, spinning on his heel as he reached the very tip of the mistletoe triangle just before the door.

“ Mmhm _ mph _ -!”

Dipper only wanted to catch Bill off guard for once. He really hadn’t intended on staying in this position any longer than the soft, and weirdly satisfying, startled sound Bill made when he leaned up to press their lips together - or on Bill’s arm snaking around his shoulders while his other hand cupped Dipper’s chin, the smooth glide of soft leather stroking along his cheek and effectively holding him in place as he regained control of the kiss. And Dipper absolutely, definitely meant to push him away when he moved his hand up to the back of Bill’s neck, fingers tangling in loose curls, and tugged; he felt Bill shiver a little at that, and he let his teeth scrape the slightest bit along Dipper’s bottom lip as they separated in a way that had to be as intentional as it was...unnervingly not at all unpleasant.

“O- _oh_ ,” Bill murmured, his breath catching and what looked suspiciously like a blush tinging the edges of his usual smirk, and Dipper was coming to the conclusion that it was a _really_ good look on him. One he’d be okay with seeing more often. “Didn’t know you had _that_ in ya, Pine Tree. Though not sure how traditional it is to try and slip me that much to-“

“Hey! What were you boys talking about? You better not be having fun without me!” In typically understated fashion, Mabel burst in from the back room, the three flower crowns looped around her arms for once the least of Dipper’s worries. He saw realisation dawn as her eyes flicked from Dipper to Bill to the mistletoe and he swore they grew to at least three times their normal size, not so much catching Dipper’s eye as practically blasting him with a laser beam of emotions, from curiosity and astonishment to outrage and amusement and...pride? “Oh, _Dipper_! Remember that...super important _flower thing_ you were going to tell me about?”  
“Uh…” This was it, this had to be how Dipper finally died, his traitorous face burning with the intensity of all the gerberas he wished he could bury himself in. “You really - you really wanna talk about that _now_?”

“You bet your sweet _molasses_ I do!” Mabel grabbed him by the wrist before he had any chance to protest, pulling him towards the stairs as she paused to glance back at Bill, who was casually leaning on his cane grinning like he was enjoying his favourite terrible sitcom. God, Dipper hated him. He hated himself. He hated that for some reason, despite whatever interrogation Mabel was about to put him through, he was still _smiling_. “And hey, Bill! While you’re sticking around and maybe trying out that not-being-the-worst thing, there’s still a ton of stuff to do before Grunkle Stan and Ford get here tomorrow! Why don’t you follow us up?”

Dipper’s heart sank in exact proportion to how wide Bill’s smile grew, his face lighting up with probably 99% sadism and 1% something else Dipper couldn’t quite place - something he didn’t remember ever seeing in Bill before - as he tipped his hat.

“I’m _right_ behind you, Shooting Star.”

Well, Dipper thought helplessly, as Bill fluttered his fingers while Mabel proceeded to drag him up the stairs with a grip he knew he had no hope of getting out of - whatever this holiday season was turning into, it sure wasn’t going to be  _ boring _ . 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy flowers, bye~
> 
> (thank you so much for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3)


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